Discovering Torchwood
by Darkfangz13
Summary: Sequel to my other story 'Hand in Fridge'. Sherlock brings John to Cardiff to prove aliens exist. Of course, nothing really goes completely according to plan, does it? And John shows Sherlock how good of an investigator he could be.
1. Chapter 1

Discovering Torchwood - Chapter One

* * *

><p>"Sherlock," John prompted, stuffing his hands deep into his jacket pocket, feeling an overwhelming sense of deja vu. "what am I doing here?"<p>

Sherlock looked bemused at John's annoyance. "Helping me make a point."

John sent him a whithering glare. "Here we are in the middle of Winter, out in the open, at Roald Dahl Plass, ...in Cardiff, of all places!"

"Perfectly sound analysis." Sherlock interrupted.

"And you won't tell me why we're here, or, better yet, _who _you're supposed to be making a point to!" John let out a huge breath. "And here I was hoping for a nice, relaxing day off from the clinic. Not asking for much, just a bit of peace and quiet at Baker Street, maybe a few books and a good, warm cuppa. But no! You had to drag me all the way out here!" John continued ranting miserably, sniffing.

"Well, first of all," Sherlock began. "you should know that there's no such thing as 'peace and quiet' in 221b Baker Street, I won't stand for it."

"Yeah, 'hateful' I remember you calling it." John muttered.

Sherlock ignored him. "Books and tea could easily be acquired anywhere." he tried to placate his disgruntled flatmate.

"Couldn't we, at least, I don't know, take this trip any season _other _than Winter?" John questioned.

"We could," Sherlock hummed. "But Anderson hates Spring, he has an allergy. Mycroft hates Summer, he's allergic to sweating. And Sally hates Autumn, Halloween, and all."

John blinked. "So we couldn't get away from London because you want to watch your enemies suffer?" he snorted.

"What? Not good?" Sherlock furrowed his brow in genuine confusion. Had he said something wrong again?

John shook his head. "Whatever floats your boat, Sherlock." he sighed. "But really, what are we doing here?"

Sherlock glanced around. "We are... waiting."

"Waiting for...?" John egged him on.

Down in the Hub, Jack jumped up from where he was observing the CCTV footages with Tosh. "Ah, that would probably be my cue."

Tosh followed his movements with her eyes as he bounded to the invisible lift. "Who are those people, Jack?" she asked curiously.

Jack straightened his coattails and smoothed out his lapels. "Guests." he informed her with a bright smile. "Be ready to greet them." And then he was off.

"Aliens, _seriously_ Sherlock! Back at it, with the aliens?" John was groaning when he heard what his flatmate had to say.

"What? You don't believe me?" Sherlock looked just a little bit wounded.

"I didn't believe you when you claimed you could tell a software designer by his tie..."

"...And a retired plumber by his left hand. I remember." Sherlock cut him off. "But, it was all very true."

John nodded. "I realized that... _after_ you gave me an example."

Sherlock turned to John impatiently. "And here I am, giving you an example. Better yet, proof!" He peered at John intently. "Aliens do exist."

"And where would they come from then?" John quesitoned, unwilling to be defeated. "There's no way _you _could know where they come from, you can't even name the third rock from the Sun!" Jack snickered a little, hearing the last part of the conversation on his way up.

Sherlock squinted his eyes at Jack, taking no more than 0.5 seconds to see him through the perception filter. John, however, still hadn't noticed anything. But he seemed to have sensed something, he stopped dead in his tracks and swiveled his head around curiously. "Is something the matter?" Sherlock asked, feigning ignorance. He inwardly laughed, John was standing with his back facing the invisible elevator, not three feet in front of Jack.

Jack craned his neck to peek over John's shoulder and waved at Sherlock silently. John finally stopped looking for an invisible watcher, but his shoulders were still tense. "No, must be my imagination. Do you get the feeling we're being watched?" It took all of Sherlock's self control to keep from bursting out into laughter right then and there.

He glanced around a little for John's sake. "I don't see anybody."

John hummed to himself. "Hm, funny..." Then he seemed to brush it off. "So, you were saying... proof?"

Jack stepped out of the perception filtered area, then. "I guess it's my turn to explain?"

John whirled around, fists tight, but he didn't lash out like he did last time. "Mister Harkness." he greeted curtly, half-glancing around, wondering where the man had popped out from.

"Oh, please," Jack smiled charmingly. "call me Jack."

"Jack." John corrected himself with a strained smile. Obviously, he hadn't forgotten about The Doctor's severed hand. "Nice you see you again, how are you doing?" Pleasant, bordering on overly polite, just the attitude to undertake when talking to a man who keeps a human hand in a jar. Jack couldn't help but smile amusedly at the thought.

"I'm great, you?" he asked, in turn.

"Cold." was the annoyed reply, more directed at Sherlock than at Jack.

"Well, we'd better fix that, then." Jack chuckled and motioned to the invisible elevator. "Ianto makes the best coffee in the universe, just the thing for a cold day. Shall we?"

John sent Sherlock a dubious look, obviously wondering 'Shall we... what?' Sherlock smiled and led John onto the elevator with a firm grip on his elbow. Jack joined them, standing so close they were nearly touching. John looked like he was uncomfortable with their close proxemity, but he didn't say anything.

"And what, exactly," John said slowly. "are we going to do on a stone slab?" Someone had to ask, and apparently it wasn't going to be Sherlock.

As if reply to his asked question, the elevator began moving downward. John wobbled, caught off guard, but regained control of himself with a speed that disappointed Jack slightly. Usually, people would grab whatever, or whoever, was closest and hold on tight until the elevator stopped. So far, he had caught all the Torchwood members with that trick. But not John? Sherlock's reverence for the man's adaptability was quickly understood.

John was gaping, an utterly gobsmacked expression on his face as he peered around the Hub. "What...?" There was a screech overhead and John's gaze shot up just in time to catch a glimpse of some sort of gigantic bird with leathery wings. "What the Hell...?"

"That would be Myfanwy, our pet Pterodactyl." Jack smiled at the look of utter amazement on John's face. "Torchwood's 24/7 guard-alien."

"Your pet Pera- what?" John gasped.

"Pterodactyl." Sherlock informed him from his other side. "It's a dinasour."

John blinked. "Oh..." then he sent Sherlock a look. "But don't think I'm convinced, Sherlock, if it's Pterodactyl, it's a dinosour... from Earth, decidedly _not_ alien."

Jack chuckled. "Not quite 'decidedly', Watson."

John was about to request being called by his given name when Sherlock stopped him with a 'Don't bother, he already knows a 'John'. And before you ask, he knows a 'Doctor' as well.'

"Hulloo, what's goin' on here, then?" Owen poked his head out of the autopsy bay curiously.

"Sherlock, Watson, meet Owen Harper, our medical officer." Jack introduced him, then he turned to John. "I'd say you two would get along... but he's not exactly a nominee for 'best conversationalist'. He's quite rude sometimes." he said, lowering his voice, but still loud enough for everybody to hear.

"Oi! Heard that!" Owen yapped after him. Jack ignored him.

"This is Toshiko Sato, our technical expert." Jack patted Tosh on the shoulder. "We call her 'Tosh' for short."

"Hello, hi, nice to meet you." Tosh responded distractedly, not looking away from her computer screen.

Jack pointed across the Hub to where Gwen was just walking in. "Gwen, our newest recruit." Gwen started at the presence of strangers, and awkwardly lifted a hand in a half-salute-half-wave.

"And Ianto... where's Ianto?" Jack wondered aloud. Then he smelled the positively enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and knew exactly where the archivist was. "Ianto!" he called out toward the break room.

"Sir?" Ianto's head popped into view. Then he saw Sherlock and John, he caught Jack's expectant look nodded politely. "I'll make a few extra cups, then." And he disappeared once more.

"Don't know what we'd do without Ianto and his industrial coffee." Jack chuckled affectionately.

"First things first." Sherlock interrupted their tour. "Do you happen to have a few alien species lying around for observation?"

Jack peered into Owen's work space and grimaced. "I'll take you downstairs to see the Weevils."

John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "Weevils?"

"Not your usual Weevils, mind." Sherlock smiled grimly. "They're big and violent enough to take off your head, if you're not careful." John's eyes widened but he followed Jack and Sherlock.

"And here we are!" Jack motioned them to the cells with a flourish. "Alien holding cells for illegal immigrants." He announced dramatically, Sherlock snorted at that.

"Alright, let's see if _this_ one is alive." he murmured, Jack rolled his eyes at him.

"It was one time, Sherlock. One time!" Sherlock frowned at Jack.

"You killed it! I said I'd let you keep it, but I wanted it kept alive!" John seriously wondered if he really wanted to know what they were talking about.

"Well that's what you get for harboring an alien without the proper resources!" Sherlock hiding away aliens? Unlikely, but this _was_ Sherlock so, who knew?

"Like you'd have done any better! How was I suppose to know that it was allergic to the hydrogen in the air!"

"Lots of aliens are allergic to hydrogen!"

"No, ...Really?" John ignored the two bickering blokes and approached the cell to observe the Weevil.

"Fantastic!" he gasped in amazement. The alien was sitting crosslegged, his shoulders slack, and one of its pupils were dilated more than the other. "Hello." he called over his shoulder. "I might sound daft, but are alien pupils supposed to dilate at different rates?" Jack immediately stopped arguing with Sherlock and neared the cell as well.

"Well, I have no idea." he admitted. "I'll ask Owen later."

John nodded and backed away from the alien's gaze. "So," Sherlock smiled smugly. "believe me now?"

John looked from Sherlock, to Jack, then to the Weevil. "Okay, you got me. Aliens do exist." Sherlock gave a sweeping bow and began walking back up to the bullpen. "... But there's _no _way there's a species called Raxacoricofallapatorius! Who do you think you are, Mary Poppins!" Sherlock shot a half-confused, half annoyed look.

Jack just laughed behind them.

"But it's true!" Sherlock trotted back upstairs.

"No, Sherlock! There's no way you're making me believe that!" John cried adamantly, trailing distractedly on his flatmate's heels as he continued his observation of the Hub.

"Didn't take well to the Weevil, I take it?" Gwen asked Jack sympathetically.

Jack chuckled, watching the two guests. "Oh, no. He took in the situation well enough, he just has a problem with the names of a few _other_ alien races."

Their conversation was interrupted by Sherlock impatiently exclaiming, "The information came from Mycroft! Mycroft wouldn't make a mistake like that! If he says their race is called 'Raxacoricofallapatorius' then it is!" Gwen glanced at Jack with a grim 'ah'.

"_Mycroft_, kidnapped me! Forgive me if I don't trust him much!" John was quick to retort. "And how does Mycroft know all this?" he demanded.

"Because Mycroft is a man who has many pudgy fingers in other people's pies. Funny, he still complains about getting his hands dirty." John chuckled a little at the pun. "It's only logical that Mycroft would be keeping an eye on alien incidents that go on in England. But really, why arn't you worried about how _I _know all of this?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"That there, is a good question." Owen piped up from his workspace. Jack quickly mentioned the Weevil's dilated pupil to him and ushered him to go check it out. He wanted to see John's reaction!

John shrugged his shoulders helplessly and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "To tell you the truth, it's sort of a relief that aliens do exist." he admitted. "I actually think I won't be surprised if you told me that you're an alien too, because honestly, it would explain _so_ much." he deadpanned. "Well, the body parts, in the very least."

Sherlock blinked at John for a second, just one, then a smile stretched across his face. "Does this mean I can stop hiding away my alien DNA samples?"

John groaned, rolling his eyes. "No, Sherlock, please keep that to yourself!"

Ianto walked in with his blessed coffee, handing out mugs of the scalding liquid and John was drawn to him like a fly to honey. "Must've been cold out there." Ianto smiled at him sympathetically, handing him a cup.

"Yes, what was with that wait? You could see us through the cameras, couldn't you!" Sherlock complained to Jack.

"I just got back from tracking down Weevils! Tosh _just_ informed me!" Jack defended himself.

The woman in question approached Jack with a phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder as she thankfully accepted coffee. "Jack," she called out after a dainty sip. "UNIT's on line for you." She handed the phone to her boss.

Jack rolled his eyes annoyedly but took the call. He was only on the phone for five minutes of heated conversation before he turned to Sherlock. "The call's for you, actually."

The phone was juggled successfuly into a new pair of hands and Sherlock raised it to his ear. "Hello?" This courteous greeting was immediately overtaken with hushed obscenities and whispered insults.

John raised his eyebrows but said nothing, too distracted by his warm, and absolutely addicting coffee. It seemed that Jack wasn't exaggerating Ianto's skill with the coffee machine. After a few minutes of ignoring Sherlock's rambling, he turned to Jack. "Sherlock's already told me all about Torchwood, but UNIT is an unfamiliar title..."

"UNIT is, in short, a covert counter-terrorist unit combating alien invasion." Jack explained, John nodded in understanding. "And, it is quite infamous for its estranged working relations with Torchwood III." he added.

John laughed, shaking his head. "Of course Sherlock and Mycroft would associate themselves with opposing groups." he said just as Sherlock was in the process of accusing his brother of breaking into his flat and destroying every scrap of alien evidence in his posssession. Why can't John be told about aliens anyway? It's not like he's going to tell anybody!

John rolled his eyes mouthing 'who's there to tell?' to Tosh, who just shrugged her shoulders. Then, a moment later, Sherlock was grabbing John by his arm and leading him to what looked like a large, barred cog. "We've got to get home. Mycroft's been threatening the skull."

John only had time to hurriedly put his coffee cup down on someone's desk before the bars opened and the cog rolled out of its place automatically. So it was a door. "Come on! Come on!" Sherlock was chanting agitatedly. "Before Mycroft decides to crush it, or worse yet, paint it up... again!"

Just as they were nearing the exit door, they heard a loud screeching noise. John near jumped out of his skin, moving into a defensive position. "What was that!" he asked nervously.

"There's been a breach in security in the cells!" Tosh called, fingers blurring over her keyboard. "The Weevil's escaped!"

"Where's Owen?" Jack demanded concernedly.

"Looks like he was knocked out when the Weevil broke free!" Gwen exclaimed, leaning over Tosh's shoulder to see the live video footage.

Ianto glanced around a bit and found what he was looking for in Owen's desk. John furrowed his eyebrows. Was that pepper spray? Sherlock smiled a little at John's baffled look. "Don't worry, John, they're professionals."

A moment later, there was a crash and the Weevil ambled into view. John sucked in a sharp breath. Observing this creature while it was locked up and sedated was one thing. But what teeth it had when it was lucid! John felt a tremor of genuine fear run down his spine. All of a sudden, he was back in Afghanistan biting bullets, back in a darkened swimming pool strapped in a Semtex vest, Moriarty's voice sending cold chills down his spine.

He ran a perfectly stable hand smoothly across the back of his waistband for his gun and blew out a calming breath. Sherlock noted the movement and smiled.

Tosh jumped back from the Weevil with a yelp when Gwen was thrown across the Hub and into a wall. Jack tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes. Ianto moved into a defensive position, Weevil spray poised and ready, just waiting to the opportunity to get within striking distance.

But the Weevil wasn't out for blood. He wanted his freedom. He turned his ugly gaze toward the first exit he could find. Sherlock and John gulped, fight-or-flight instincts taking over.

* * *

><p>To be Continued...<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

* * *

><p>Jack saw the Weevil's nostrils flare and he went for his gun. Bullets wouldn't stop Weevils, but it could slow them down a little. He aimed at the Weevil just in time to see John mimick his movements.<p>

John had the Weevil clear in his sights. He tightened his jaw and pulled the trigger twice in quick procession. The Weevil jerked and stumbled but continued lumbering toward him and Sherlock. John furrowed his brow, he was sure he shot it. He pulled the trigger again. Still it did not stop. "Oh, Hell...!" He heard Sherlock utter in horror before the Weevil was suddenly on him. "John!"

John couldn't help but feel the entire situation was strange. The force with which the Weevil hit him with could do little more than make him stumble, at least, that's what it felt like. He remembered seeing Sherlock's face, ashen white, paler than he usually was. There was something in the detective's eyes that struck John. What was it? Horror? There was plenty of that, yeah, that was easy to see. Fear? The great Sherlock Holmes was not above that, John knew. And regret? It couldn't be that, could it? What could Sherlock be regretful of?

But first, the danger had to be taken care of, he could ask Sherlock if he was alright later. John blinked, noting with slight worry that his eyelids didn't reopen as easily as they closed. But he forced them open. He found that he didn't, couldn't, understand what he was seeing.

The whole Hub had seemingly jumped 90 degrees in his vision in the time he had blinked. The whole room was sideways, floors running upward vertically. John started visibly when a foot crashed down into the floor only a foot from his face on its way out of the Hub. He gasped, immediately regretting the action. He felt like his lungs were frozen and every breath was like trying to swallow icicles. And he could hear Sherlock's voice miles away... shouting...

"John!" Sherlock screamed, falling to his knees beside his flatmate. "No, no, no! You can't sleep, John! Don't sleep!" he rattled off in panic when John closed his eyes heavily only to open them again two seconds later. Jack was frozen, but quickly regained himself, chasing after the Weevil, Ianto joining him for backup.

Sherlock pressed his palms into the gaping wound in John's chest in a feeble attempt to staunch the blood flow. "How..." John opened his mouth to choke, causing a stream of scarlet to run down his pale cheek. "Shr'lck, how b'd...?" So he was lucid enough to realize he had just been stabbed in the chest? Sherlock felt a sliver of hope rise in him.

"Not bad, not bad at all." he lied to John with a slight chuckle of relief that John hadn't succumbed yet. "But you can't go to sleep, do you hear me?"

John let out what could be translated as a chuckle, though garbled and choked through. "Isn't there some kind of rule that shuns lying to your doctor?" he quipped, voice slightly stronger now that he had spit out the blood that he had choked on previously.

"Don't talk, John. It'll be alright, yeah?" Sherlock smiled a little unsurely.

"It will be, if you tell me how to treat myself." John bit his lip and his hand twitched for something to keep ahold of. He knew the dangers of sleeping in situations like this. He might fall into a coma and never wake up. Sherlock caught the movement and grabbed John's hand. "Keep me talking, Sherlock, can't fall asleep..."

"Okay..." Sherlock blinked away the dizziness he felt. There was just so much blood. If it had been anybody else's blood, he wouldn't have cared. But not John, God, not John! "Okay, lets see... well, I'm no doctor, John, but I believe you presently have a gaping hole in your torso." Again, John chuckled feebly. "I think it broke a rib or two..."

John slid a hand over his abdomen and pressed around the wound lightly. "Yeah, two I think." he agreed, he brought his hand away from his chest and his heart sank to see how much blood had stained it. "Pierced a lung, too, I think." He grimaced as a bolt of pain lanced through him and curled closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock stared with horrified fascination at John's shaky hand gripping his own in a death-like grip, pun unintended. "John... John, it's okay. It's going to be okay." he murmured soothingly, brushing a bloody hand through his friend's damp curls.

John opened his mouth but no sound came out. He grimaced again and his eyes rolled upward as he dropped his head back limply. "John... John!" Sherlock screamed. Then he whirled around toward Gwen and Toshiko who were frozen in horror. "Your medic! Where the Hell is your medic!" he snapped violently.

Gwen started and jumped into action, rushing away to the cells to get their medical officer while Tosh raided Owen's workspace for the needed equipment. "Stupid, stupid!" Sherlock choked, still applying pressure to John's chest. "I should've never let you come here!"

* * *

><p>To be Continued...<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

* * *

><p>"How is he?" Jack asked without any sort of greeting as he approached Sherlock.<p>

Sherlock blinked himself out of his thoughts and looked up at Jack. "The doctors say he'll be fine, he's stable now."

Jack nodded with obvious relief. Owen had treated John the best he could with a massive concussion and somehow they had managed to keep him alive until they reached the ER. Sherlock shifted to a more comfortable angle in his seat, hospital chairs were so uncomfortable! John was lying in the bed beside him, pale and unmoving. Jack couldn't help but notice, now, the deep bags around the soldier's eyes and his tightened jawline. He looked so very small, surrounded by all the machines and paraphernalia that kept him breathing.

"I shouldn't have brought him here." Sherlock muttered under his breath, watching his flatmate's rising and falling chest.

"You couldn't have known this was going to happen." Jack tried to convince him. But Sherlock levelled him with a look that spoke volumes. He was Sherlock Holmes! He should've at least seen this possibility! Jack sighed. "It's not your fault."

Sherlock ignored him. "What's the cover-up story?" he asked.

Jack grimaced. "Car accident. Hit a patch of ice and couldn't stop in time." Sherlock pursed his lips miserably. Jack glanced around, as if worried that someone could overhear him. "You're thinking of retconning him." It wasn't a question.

"Do you think he'd want to remember?" Sherlock shot back.

Jack watched Sherlock for a long moment, then relented. "You know him better than I do. If you think this will help him, then do it."

Sherlock nodded, it wasn't like he was asking Jack's permission anyway. "I'll give him a three-day retcon, he won't even remember meeting you, then. And I would've never told him anything about aliens." Jack nodded slowly. It was better if John didn't remember _anything _about Torchwood and aliens, he wouldn't ask questions. "You should get back to the Hub." Sherlock told him. "You look worse off than John does."

Jack chuckled, rubbing his cheek absently. "That one hurt, Sherlock. Take care, then." and he was gone like a shadow.

"Mm, Shr'lck?" John moaned, blinking his eyes halfway open.

Sherlock jumped, John shouldn't have woken for at least three more hours! "Welcome back." he smiled. "You thirsty? Do you need a drink, or something?"

John nodded thankfully. "I'm parched."

* * *

><p>"Argh, what...?" John growled, throwing a heavy arm over his eyes. "Sherlock, what time is it?"<p>

Sherlock glanced over at him. "11:30." was the curt response.

"God... damn it!" John rolled over onto his side, finally taking in his surroundings. They were in their flat on Baker Street. John furrowed his eyebrows. Why did he feel the need to clarify that? It's not like they were going anywhere. "Oh, no, I have work!" he groaned in despair, moving to push himself upright.

Sherlock was at his side in a flash with a restricting grip on his shoulder, keeping him lying on the couch in their sitting room. "You're really out of it, arn't you?" the detective snorted, half-amusedly.

"What...?" John inquired as eloquently as he could manage.

"You don't remember?" Sherlock furrowed his brow. "I'd remember if a car plowed through me."

John started visibly. "A car...?" He didn't remember that at all!

"Please tell me you at least remember insisting on returning home instead of staying at the hospital?" John shook his head slowly. "The doctor's said you should stay at the hospital for at least a few weeks. But you pulled some sort of 'I'm a doctor, you know!' excuse on them and got back here early."

John looked confused. "Really? I did that?"

Sherlock scowled. "You _should _remember! I remember! I was the one who had to drag you out of the cab and into the flat! You lost consciousness about halfway back!"

John felt dizzy. He didn't remember, not a single recollection. "Sorry," he apologized around his thick tongue. "I must be really out of it."

"Just go back to sleep." Sherlock near begged him. "Don't want you to tear a stitch... it'd be annoying to bring you back to the hospital." John aqcuiesed without complaint, falling back asleep even before it occured to him how strange it was to have Sherlock looking after him.

* * *

><p>It was a week, or so Sherlock informed him, after his unfortunate car accident before John was finally well enough to move sluggishly around their flat without supervision. Mrs. Hudson had been an angel to him in that time since Sherlock was always too excited, or agitated to play babysitter for him. She'd always bustle around, tidying up their flat as much as she found safe and was never too far to call out for a cup of soothing tea, she even offered John 'medicinal herbs' for the pain... although, John had wisely declined.<p>

But, now that John had regained much of his former strength, he had kindly sent their landlady downstairs while he opted to clean out the fridge. He usually made a point to do it at least twice every week, just in case. He was worried at what he would find.

Thankfully, he didn't find much of anything, no body parts, no poisons, not even much food! John frowned. It seemed that Sherlock had stuck to not buying groceries while John was bedridden. Well, John sighed inwardly, that would give him something to do tomorrow.

He finished cleaning out the fridge and moved to the bathroom to change his bandaging. He pulled his longsleeve off carefully, satisfied that none of his stitches had torn, he cut through the gauze with a pair of scissors that had found a new home in the sink cupboard.

He glanced at himself in the mirror and frowned, gazing intently at the scar on his chest. It bothered him, no matter how hard he tried to brush the feeling off. A wound like his couldn't have resulted from a car crash, and Sherlock would've known that! He brushed his fingers over the scabbed edges absently. What really happened to him? Why didn't he remember? And why was Sherlock intent on keeping it that way?

He sighed, if Sherlock didn't want to tell him, he wouldn't ask. But that wouldn't stop him from beginning an investigation of his own. John nodded to his pallid reflection resolutely. He'd get to the bottom of this mystery even if it was without Sherlock's help.

* * *

><p>Sherlock breezed into their flat, slamming the door carelessly behind him. But John wasn't on the sitting room sofa like he had been for the last few days. He turned toward the kitchen, smelling a whiff of tea and something else... He leaned on the kitchen door frame and peered in to see John sipping tea, eyes roaming over his laptop screen intently. "So," he voiced, announcing his presence. "you're up and about, I see."<p>

John smiled at him a little. "Fit as a fiddle." Which was a lie. John felt it very distracting, knowing there was really no food in the flat. He would've gone out shopping but knew he might not be able to handle the groceries on the way back.

Sherlock just smiled back. "That's... good."

John returned his attention to his computer. "Yes, yes it is." Sherlock nodded and turned to retreat into the sitting room when John's flippant comment nearly stopped his heart. "The coffee's rubbish, by the way. Doesn't taste as good anymore, I think it's gone spoiled." But it wasn't that, and it wasn't like John had made it wrong either...

Sherlock turned slowly to study John's expression. Nothing but slight puzzlement. "Yes... I thought so too." And he left the room.

Meanwhile, John frowned at his laptop, unaware of the distress his flatmate was in. He was reading his own blog, there was something strange about it. John always wrote something, even if he never got around to posting it. Little tidbits of information that Sherlock taught him, amusing, domestic anecdotes, he wrote those in his drafts everyday. While, it was apparent that something drastic had happened a week before, since there were no posts or drafts written in that time, but what puzzled John was why there was one day's draft missing ten days ago.

John frowned, crossing his arms suspiciously. He had been careful to keep writing everyday, even when he and Sherlock were in the middle of a case. Where had his draft gone?

* * *

><p>To be Continued...<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

* * *

><p>"Yes," Sherlock growled impatiently into his cellphone. "we're all right over here. John hasn't remembered anything, although he might've come damned close! I never thought I'd say this... but I'm really beginning to dislike your archivist's coffee."<p>

_"He bought your story about the car crash, then?"_ Jack's voice echoed inside the shell of Sherlock's ear.

"I'm not sure." Sherlock sighed. "And if he didn't, well, he's not saying anything about it." He glanced at their flat door from where he was sitting on the stairs. Satisfied that John hadn't poked his head out, or anything, Sherlock returned to his conversation. "Anyways, I'm going to just wait for him to heal before taking any sort of action. Goodbye, then, Jack."

He hung up and slid the phone back into his coat pocket as he clambered the rest of the way down the stairs. "Mrs. Hudson! I'm going out! Keep an eye on John until then!" And he was out the door.

John breathed out slowly, shakily, from where he was pressed with his ear against their flat door, jacket slung over one arm. He had just been on his way out for that shopping trip he promised himself when he heard Sherlock talking on his phone. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he had froze with his hand on the doorknob when Sherlock had mentioned his name and described his situation. Of course, his first instinct was to think that Sherlock was speaking to either Mycroft or Lestrade, a thought quickly brushed off when he said the name 'Jack'.

He stumbled backward, away from the door, frowning like it had done him some irrevocable wrong. He didn't know what to think. Sherlock was obviously lying to him about the car accident. Why? And who was 'Jack'? John pressed his lips together. Mycroft would know... but Mycroft wouldn't tell him. He'd call Sherlock up the moment John walked away from him. He turned, wondering what to do, when his eyes fell on his laptop again. His eyes lit up. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of this before?

He returned to the sitting room and nestled himself in his usual stuffed chair and pulled his laptop onto his knees. Shopping would just have to wait.

Sherlock had told him, one day, that deleting information from a computer was useless. Even if the computer gives you the illusion of destroying the data, it would still be accessable with a few little tricks. Sherlock had even demonstrated this when he hacked into John's laptop and pulled up an e-mail draft to Harry that John had deleted three years ago.

And he had it! John felt elation when he recovered his deleted draft. "Oh, God." he groaned when full realization hit him. "Sherlock must be rubbing off on me!" He opened the document.

_Strange thing happened today... well, when I mean 'strange', I mean REALLY strange! Sherlock had a guest earlier, a 'Jack Harkness'. He had a severed hand in a jar... a hand that sometimes twitched. Well, considering the kind of person Sherlock Holmes is, I couldn't say I was shocked all that much, he has a peculiar habit of associating himself with the strangest of people. Anyway, Jack must've come here for some of that top secret data Sherlock keeps holed away in his room. He wore a military jacket, an old one, but genuine, as far as I could tell. He probably works for the military, or some other secret government organization... maybe he works for Mycroft, although I really wouldn't know the difference._

_Jack Harkness had a friend that came by to pick him up, an 'Ianto Jones', a really mild-mannered, polite man, easily likeable. Sherlock's never spoke about them before, so I asked him about them._

_Sherlock seems convinced that aliens exist, he said that Jack Harkness catches aliens for a living... I think it's a load of rubbish. It all seems so strange and fantastical, like something that would be made up. Unreal._

_He's given me a few examples that I can't really believe, like: alien spaceships crash landing in the Thames, aliens called 'Raxacoricofallapatorius' disguising themselves as British government officials, aliens threatening the deaths of approximately one-third of Earth's population. Of course, there's no way for me to believe this all entirely because I was still in Afghanistan, getting shot at, while all this happened. And, since my return to England, aliens seem to be behaving themselves._

_Sherlock admitted that the secret information that he keeps up in his room are mostly of alien contact on Earth. Some of the information is from Mycroft, some are Sherlock's own reportings, and some are from Jack Harkness's group 'Torchwood'._

_Sherlock has predicted that Mycroft will waste no time in raiding our flat for the alien evidence, as Sherlock isn't actually supposed to tell anybody about... this, me included._

John leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling. He let out a long breath. Why didn't he remember any of this? And why did Sherlock, he supposed it was Sherlock, delete it? His mind swam. What should he do now? Should he approach Sherlock about it? John absently scrolled down to the next draft and suddenly blinked in surprise. It was the next day's draft.

_Sherlock's in a mood today. He says he won't come back into the flat until he's sure he's got the stench of Mycroft out of it. I take it Mycroft actually did steal all his "alien" data..._

John felt the inside of his mouth dry. Maybe, if he was very lucky, he could use this to his advantage...

* * *

><p>Mycroft stood languidly, leaning on his umbrella, as the car rolled to a stop. It surprised him that John Watson would approach him personally for something. If he was certain of one thing, it was that Sherlock didn't know about this meeting. Maybe Doctor Watson had changed his mind about not informing on Sherlock? God knew he needed the money with which to buy some respectable clothes!<p>

He watched with snake-eyes as John clambered out of the car's right passenger seat, Anthea exiting out of the left. John didn't waste time on pleasantries, he stalked up to Mycroft, eyes ablaze. Oh dear, what had his brother done now?

"Mycroft, you need to give it back." John growled when he neared the man.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Give...?"

John swallowed his impatience. "Whatever it is you have stolen from Sherlock, you need to give it back. Now."

The data on extraterrestrial contact. Mycroft made a show of cocking his head to the side in puzzlement. "I don't recall ever stealing from Sherlock." he lied.

John narrowed his eyes. "I don't have the time, or patience for your games!" he spat, glaring. "Sherlock's bored, and when he's bored, he tends to dwell on the things that bother him the most. You stealing his data, whatever it might entail, bothers him. He's throwing tantrums and is unresponsive to practially everything! I've just been mauled by a car a week, or so, ago. I'm not in any state, or mood, to humor him, or you, for that matter."

Mycroft's eyebrows rose an inch at the doctor's outburst. True, he did look stressed and overall unwell... But before he could say anything, John was speaking again. "Please Mycroft, I'm asking you nicely. Give Sherlock his data back and spare us both the grief."

Mycroft paused for a few long moments, then he let out a sigh. He pulled out a manila envelope that, John was amused to note, was actually stamped with an angry red 'Top Secret'. "I had a feeling something like this would happen. You will forgive me, though, I made myself a copy of the data. Who knows what evidence Sherlock witheld? There was even one time that he went so far as to harbor an alien without my knowledge..." a reminiscent look shone in Mycroft's eye.

John's eyes widened a little. _Sherlock harboring aliens? So, not only was he being honest about the alien life-forms, but he himself had made contact!_ He recovered himself fairly quickly and managed to pull on a blank expression. Mycroft, sharp man that he was, noted it and responded with a suspicious look. "I really did not expect that." John covered his mistake smoothly. "He must've let that part out."

Once the evidence was safely in his hands, John wasted no time in retreating into the car and requesting he be sent back home, resisting the urge to sigh in relief.

Mycroft watched the black vehicle disappear into the distance before dialling a number from memory. The phone rang twice before his call was rudely blocked. He rang again, and again. And finally, on his fourth try, Sherlock picked up. _"What do you want Mycroft?"_ he grouched.

"I just had a strange visit from Doctor Watson." Mycroft told him. "Thought you might be interested."

There was silence on the other end before Sherlock responded. _"What did you tell him?"_ he demanded.

"I didn't tell him anything, he was here to retrieve your data, said you were being simply impossible and that your mood was stressing him on an unhealthy level." Again came the silence as the gravity of the situation became clear to Sherlock.

Sherlock let out a frusterated groan. _"Mycroft, you idiot!"_ and he hung up.

Mycroft stared impassively at his dead phone. "How very rude... typical, Sherlock."

* * *

><p>Sherlock was at Scotland Yard when he heard the news, but he dropped everything and rushed back to Baker Street, leaving an indignant Sally, an enraged Anderson, and poor Lestrade hanging with only half a deduction on their latest victim.<p>

He reached their flat in record time. But it seemed like John had beaten him there and had already gone. All he had grabbed on his way out was his phone, that he had turned off for fear of being tracked by his GPS, his laptop, for reasons that baffled Sherlock, and the alien evidence file. Sherlock groaned in despair, then he dialled up Jack. "Jack? It's Sherlock- I mean, of course you know it's me, you saw my ID. What I called to say is, we have a situation on our hands."

_"You're rambling," _was Jack's calm response. _"what happened?"_

"He knows, John knows!" Sherlock informed him quickly.

_"He remembers? Why is that such a serious problem? How is he taking it?"_ Jack asked, a little concernedly.

"I didn't say he remembers!" Sherlock growled. "I said 'he knows'! About aliens, I mean! He doesn't remember, yet! And I have no idea how he's taking the news because he's gone off somewhere!"

There was a thoughtful silence on the other end. _"Wow, how did THAT happen?" _he chuckled a little. Only with Sherlock... He heard the consulting detective snarl in frustration. _"I mean... ! What can we do to help?"_

Sherlock took a deep breath. "John's got my alien evidence, there are mentions of Torchwood in there, just call me if he turns up."

_"You got it."_

Sherlock paused, contemplating on ending the conversation there. But after a few moments of careful deliberation, he let out a defeated sigh. "Nevermind, if I'm right about John, he might already be in Cardiff. I'm coming over."

* * *

><p>To be Continued...<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

* * *

><p>John took a careful sip of his coffee and frowned, grimacing slightly as he glanced out of the cafe window. Maybe it was just his tastebuds that were strange? He felt a pang of fear, had the car accident managed to damage the nerves connecting his tongue to his brain? Ever since the mysterious accident, John hadn't found any coffee that suited his tastes. Of course, maybe the reason was because he usually drank tea, not coffee? He put aside his coffee cup and kindly requested the cheerful waitress for tea.<p>

He pulled out his laptop and settled it comfortably on the table. After he had read his forgotton/deleted draft mentioning Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones, John searched the internet for any mention of them and came up with nothing other than a military officer that disappeared in 1941... well, close to nothing.

He had found traces of a similar search in which someone had researched on both the mysterious Jack Harkness and Torchwood. John felt that this other inquirer might provide a lead that could help him find Sherlock's acquaintence, Jack Harkness of Torchwood.

This is what found John in Cardiff, waiting for one Gwen Cooper.

* * *

><p>"Heya! Morning!" Gwen called out cheerfully as she lowered herself down into the Hub on the invisible lift.<p>

"Morning, Gwen!" Ianto passed by breezily, guiding a hot cup of coffee into her hands on his way to Owen's workspace.

"Hey, anything going on today?" Gwen asked, approaching Tosh's desk.

"Nope." The techie shook her head and Gwen groaned. "The things we wish for sometimes..." she sighed in boredom.

"Only in Torchwood." Jack agreed, stauntering out of his office. "But don't worry, something might happen yet. Sherlock just called in, said he was coming over."

"But, what about Doctor Watson?" Ianto asked, handing him his morning coffee. "Didn't he retcon him?"

Jack grimaced. "That's sort of the problem." Owen wandered into the premesis to hear the story. "He _was_ retconned, but had suspicions about his wound, he _is_ a doctor, after all."

"And what happened?" Gwen asked concernedly.

"He rediscovered evidence of alien life-forms on Earth, but he still doesn't remember that this is all information that he already knew once. He's trying to find Torchwood on his own." Jack explained.

"But," Owen began after an obnoxiously loud slurp of coffee. "isn't that a little dangerous, not to mention unlikely that he'd find us?"

"I found Torchwood." Gwen protested.

"That's not the problem here." Jack interrupted before it could turn out into a full blown fight. "Sherlock doesn't seem to much mind if Watson regains his memories of Torchwood, but he's somewhere out there with a still healing Weevil injury that he almost died from."

"Well, it looks like he doesn't have to worry anymore." Ianto voiced out distractedly, staring at Tosh's screen.

Jack crowded behind him to see the CCTV footage of the Plass. And, sure enough, John was standing there, head swiveling around, looking for something. Gwen coughed apologetically. "He must've followed me. I came in though the lift."

Just then, Jack's cell rang. He glanced down at the ID and took the call. "Sherlock? We found John."

_"I know." _Sherlock replied, surprisingly calm now. _"He researched your name, and Torchwood's, came up empty, but found traces of a past research on those two keywords. He traced the previous research to the police in Cardiff and followed the lead to 'Gwen Cooper'." _Jack glanced at Gwen and smiled a bit. Was that a trace of pride in Sherlock's voice?

"Wait, how did he get my name without remembering?" Jack quieried.

_"He writes blog drafts everyday, got suspicious as to why one day's draft, the day you came to our flat, was deleted. He hacked into his own computer and retrieved the data."_

Jack chuckled. "Clever." He took mercy on John and decided not to keep the man in suspense. "Look, Sherlock, John is right outside, in the Plass. I'm going to bring him in before he freezes to death."

_"Don't bother." _Sherlock responded shortly. _"I'm there already."_

* * *

><p>Sherlock hung up and slid his phone into his pocket just as he caught sight of John, still wondering where Gwen had disappeared to. "My God, do you never wear warm clothing?" he asked with some amusement as John near jumped out of his skin.<p>

John turned to face Sherlock. "You don't see me complaining about you wearing that same coat everyday." he replied with a shrug.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "And why would you? There's nothing to complain about."

John rolled his eyes. "Right..." He looked around again. "Say, Sherlock, did you happen to see a woman walk by here?"

Sherlock ignored the question. "What are you doing here?" John's head jumped up at that, eyes widening. _"Sherlock, what are we doing here?" _

"What did you just say?" John choked, a nauseating feeling rushing through his body to his brain. _Sherlock looked bemused at John's annoyance. "Helping me make a point."_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You heard me perfectly the first time. What are you doing here?" He was abruptly cut off by John reaching up a fisting a good portion of his hair with a pained grimace on his face. "John? John, what's wrong?"

"Ow, it's just my head. It's nothing." John held up his free hand to indicate that he was alright. "It's just this bloody headache! 'S been bothering me since yesterday. I'm fine." Another bolt of pain seared through his head. "Argh! Alright, maybe I'm not so great. I'm gonna sit down, alright?" John sat straight down on the ground, crossing his legs, resting his elbows on his knees as he cradled his head in his hands. Sherlock glanced around helplessly, finally finding a security camera.

Jack decided that it was time to move and sprinted for the lift calling for Owen to follow, just in case.

The nausea passed almost as soon as it had come. John breathed out a sigh of relief and looked up to find himself staring straight into Owen's face. He jerked backward, wincing slightly when he felt several stitches tear. "Jesus Christ!" He stumbled to his feet, hand pressed to his chest as if to keep his heart from jumping out before he realized that he knew this man. "You're... Owen... Harper?" he questioned almost gingerly.

"Oh, well, he looks alright." Owen chuckled a bit in glee at John's reaction. "Won't keel over an' die yet. Just the retcon wearing off."

Sherlock frowned at Owen a little before holding out a steadying hand against John's shoulder. "Alright?"

John blinked at him. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Been blown up, shot, and stabbed, I don't think a Weevil attack would kill me off." He blew out a shaky breath, then... "Why did I forget?"

And there it was, that same half-hurt, half-accusing look that Sherlock once recieved when John realized the full extent of Sherlock's apathy to Moriarty's bombing victims. Sherlock sucked in a small, calming breath. "I didn't think you'd want to remember." he rambled off lamely.

John rolled his eyes and turned away, rubbing his hands together absently to keep some semblance of warmth in them. He was obviously upset at Sherlock's decision, even Sherlock could tell that. Jack and Owen exchanged an awkward glance, feeling like they were intruding on a very private moment. They watched the near-tangible dark thoughts cloud storming over the ex-military doctor's head for a while.

For a man with such a funny little brain, Sherlock had to muse, he did think so much. Finally, John let out a great big sigh, shoulders sagging, he turned back to Sherlock with a suspicious look. "So... is it true, then? You really did harbor an alien?"

Sherlock blinked in surprise, then he scowled. "Mycroft told you about that, did he?"

"Mentioned it a little, yeah." John shrugged. "I didn't remember about the aliens, then, so it took me clear by surprise." Sherlock laughed at that.

"He never really stopped giving me Hell for that."

Jack looked from Sherlock to John uneasily. "So, we all okay here?"

John started at that, noticing Jack for the first time. Then he glared at Sherlock. "No! We're not 'okay' here! Did you really belive that I'd let myself be fooled into thinking it was a car accident!"

Sherlock blinked, deadpanned. "I can explain..." But, unfortunately for him, John had been building up this rant since he had left London.

"What were you going to say the car had, a three-pronged hood!" Owen snorted. "And I know _you're_ never going to believe that either!"

Sherlock scratched his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, well, I was going to cross that bridge when I got to it."

"You know what, Sherlock? I'm not even going to ask why you decided to keep this important information from me!" John sucked in a large breath and seemed to exhale all his frustrations. There was silence for a moment. "One silver lining." Sherlock raised his eyebrows as John pulled out the alien data he had retrieved from Mycroft. "It seems there really was a race of Raxacoricofallapatorius that disgused themselves as British government officials." he deadpanned.

Sherlock sent him an evaluating look. Then he smiled slowly and John mimicked him, then they both burst out into chuckles. "You are unbelievable!" Sherlock laughed. "But you'd better give that here. I'm pretty sure it's illegal to con Mycroft out of his top secret data." John handed the file over without protest.

"Argh! Lets get home, quick!" John groaned, stomping his feet to keep his blood circulation running. "I'm freezing!" They waved good bye to a bemused Owen and Jack and began walking away.

"Better be careful though, when we get back to London." Sherlock said grimly. "Mycroft's on the prowl, thinks you'd make a good covert operative."

John laughed at that. "I'll be careful." Then, "How did you track me down here, anyway?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "Well, maybe I might've fitted your laptop with a keylogger once... never really got around to fixing it."

John stared at him incredulously, obviously contemplating on saying something accusing about Sherlock always knowing his laptop passwords... then he shook his head. "Nevermind, wish I didn't know." Then he sneezed, earning a careful look from Sherlock.

"I was serious, though, you'll need warmer clothes. Did you have any time to get Winter clothes since you came back from Afghanistan?" John rolled his eyes.

"I think the same thoughts were running through Mycroft's head when he saw me yesterday."

"It's a disturbing thought, the only time you wore something that could stand against Mother England's choice Winter weather was supplied by Moriarty." Sherlock thought aloud.

"Yep, Semtex, warm as can be!" John snarked back and that was all Jack could hear before the two moved out of earshot.

He chuckled after them, watching them walk comfortably, side-by-side. "They'll be alright." He smiled to himself reassuringly. "They'll be more than alright."

* * *

><p>The End.<p> 


End file.
